


In Dark Waters

by Hrafnsmal



Category: In the Heart of the Sea (2015), Taboo (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boat Sex, Crossover, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Period Typical Everything, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rare Pairings, Rough Sex, Supernatural Elements, This is set in the 1860's, mentions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 07:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21295598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hrafnsmal/pseuds/Hrafnsmal
Summary: Matthew Joy was a whaler before an incident happened, leaving him marked for life with traumatic memories and a guilty consciousness. He tries to move on. One night, he meets a strange man who seems very aware of his deeds and yet not minding. Matthew finds in him a distorting mirror of his own sins. The encounter is for him the beginning of a path that will eventually lead him in  the heart of darkness.Also, shenanigans of a sexual nature.
Relationships: James Delaney/Matthew Joy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	In Dark Waters

**Author's Note:**

> When the characters refer at their "sins", it's obviously their past wrongdoings, not gay sex.

The year was 1867 and a clipper was sailing towards the United States. It had left the port of Liverpool four days ago and was heading for New York. On board were the captain, his crew and passengers, most of them poor, fleeing from the economic crisis striking the textil industries in the United Kingdom. The Civil War had brought the crisis but with its end new hopes were born, hopes for a better life- hopes that it couldn't be worse than at home. So here they were, piled up in the ship which also carried tea from China, bought in England and soon to be sold to British immigrants in America.  


It was on cargos like this that Matthew Joy spent most of his time now, one contract after another, employed as a handyman. With all his years of experience at sea, he could have asked for more. A higher position, more responsibilities, slightly less hard work. More money, maybe. And though he wasn't one to turn out honestly earned money, he didn't see the point of it at the moment. Not after what he'd been through. Money doesn't matter so much after you have felt the breath of death in your neck, stared right into its gaping jaws and bid farewell to life. Back to port, he had quitted the booze, set his things in order and looked for another job. Whaling was over for him, even though he still wore, hidden under his shirt and secured with a leather tie, his whale bone pin.  


Not that his near-death experience had thrown him into some kind of metaphysical reflexion or whatever, but things just seemed... different now. He couldn't really explain how, but an imperceptible uneasiness had crept into his life, and he would often find himself staring at the void, or at his empty hands, or at uncanny figures he fancied in the mist on the shore, when he couldn't sleep. Maybe it was the brutal cut of the alcohol. Maybe it was not. Anyway, he wasn't interested in getting married, and couldn't resolve to work on solid ground in his native island of Nantucket, so he had engaged on various cargo ships, just the time to figure it all out. The pay was decent enough, the work hard enough to make him collapse on his small bed at the end of his shift. The darkness was welcoming, devoid of gigantic caudal fins and there were no panicked awakenings in cold sweat-drenched sheets. That was all he was asking for, for now.  


Tonight though, he couldn't sleep. Not that he was not tired -he had spent the whole day running from bow to stern, taking care of the sails, checking that everything was functional. The only thing that had been out of the ordinary was an eerie request from three old ladies who had lost a pair of glasses.  


He was still musing about it when he left the crew quarters and went up on the deck in order to breathe some fresh air and take a look at the nocturnal sky. The sea was rather calm, the weather peaceful and there were no noises other than the ghosting of the mild wind among the ropes and over the sails, and the one of the ship cleaving the dark waters surrounding it. It was late and the moon was veiled by misty clouds, its light slight and ethereal. Matthew couldn't see any other ship, or any land, only the black expanse of the ocean mingling with the night, as if ready to swallow the clipper whole. He dismissed those thoughts. Sure, he was a bit superstitious, as any sailor, but unlike most of his pairs he had always known where the frontier was between reality and otherworldly chimeras. Or so he had thought. He briefly closed his eyes, keeping at bay the flashes surging from the depths of his mind, the white shards of memories lurking under the surface, always coming closer at night. He opened his eyes again and crossed the deck, heading towards the front of the boat.  


There was someone else here, realized Matthew as he got closer. No wonder he had not seen the other man ; he was dressed in black, standing still and quiet at the rail. Surely a passenger, for his clothes were not those of a sailor, expensive leather boots and a long black coat which, had it been still, would have reached his ankles ; it was hard to be sure though, since it was billowing behind him.  


Matthew decided to be friendly and went towards the man. A little bit of company wouldn't hurt tonight and if they were only two on the deck at this hour, there was surely an interesting reason behind it. Interesting enough for conversation, at least.  
« Good evening » he said as he put his square, calloused hands on the rail.  


The stranger hummed affirmatively, in a low and guttural sound coming from deep in his throat. Matthew threw a glance at his profile, taking in the triangular nose, the goatee and the old-fashioned hat which casted a shadow over his brow. His eyes under the brim were dark and unfocused, staring in the general direction of the invisible horizon.  
« No stars tonight, though », added Matthew, hoping this would get him an articulated answer.  
« Indeed », answered the stranger. His voice was hoarse from unuse. He didn't seem nor annoyed nor pleased with Matthew's presence, so the latter pushed his chance a little further.  
« Where you goin' ?  
-Ponta Delgada, in the Azores.  
-This ship doesn't go there » objected Matthew, a little bit perplexed. The following answer didn't help.  
« I know. »  


The sailor remained silent, still looking at the passenger. He wasn't quite sure of what was happening, and if the stranger was messing with him or not. He caught a glimpse of two thick black lines on the side of his neck, the ink starting under the angle of his jaw and disappearing into the collar of the dark grey shirt he wore under the coat. As if he had felt his gaze, the man crossed eyes with Matthew, slightly turning his head. Matthew kept staring at him, not intimidated in spite of the odd atmosphere. He realized that the stranger's eyes were, in fact, not black as he had thought, but blue. Not the same blue as his, though ; darker, greyer. He also realized the exchange lasted a little longer than it should have had.  
« I'm Matthew Joy », he offered, not really sure why. He was just intrigued. Yes, that was it.  
« James Delaney », answered his new acquaintance.  


They shook hands, Matthew feeling a ring on James' littlefinger through his leather glove. He also felt his gaze, wandering over his sharp features. In his early thirties, the sailor was all jaw and cheekbones, with a skin battered by wind and salt. His clear blue eyes stood out in his face, just like the scar on his upper lip due to a badly secured line of rope on his first whale-boat. Delaney wasn't smiling but there was a glint in his eyes as if he was pleasantly surprised.  
Not wanting to be intrusive, and given the weird answer he had previously obtained, Matthew didn't push the travelling subject further.  
« What are you doing here ? Enjoying the view ? » he asked, tilting his chin towards the black waters.  


A non-concommital grunt. Apparently, Delaney was of the laconic kind, which was just fine by Matthew, not a man of many words himself, excepted that tonight he-  
« Trouble sleeping ? »  


Matthew nodded. Delaney was staring at him insistently now, the dark of his irises circled with white. Then he turned his head and the unsettling sensation disappeared, as well as the slightly deranged gleam in his eyes. Something was off with the guy, thought Matthew. Maybe he was just some madman going to the New World. Maybe he was not.  
« Did you find them ? » said Delaney and Matthew blinked.  
« What ?  
-The glasses. Did you find them ? »  


At this moment something switched inside of Matthew. He wasn't going to be destabilized at every sentence. Whatever strange would come out this night, he would roll with it. He had seen worse than weird men with outdated hats. And after all, Delaney could very well have heard about the lost glasses when he was with the other passengers.  
« I did not. A ship is a big place.  
-Sure.  
-What about you ? Trouble sleeping too ? »  


Delaney shook his head.  
« Looking for some company then ? »  


Grey eyes narrowing, as if wondering about the exact meaning of the sentence. Matthew resisted the urge to fiddle with something. He had not said anything incriminating, after all. He scratched at his nape nonetheless. The hand of Delaney went up, invading his personal space, reaching for the leather tie and pulling it out of his shirt. Matthew furrowed his brows, wondering what the fuck the guy was on.  
« You are a whaler then.   
-Was. » Matthew said abruptly. He did not move though, Delaney keeping the pin between his fingers, his eyes fixed upon it with the same strange expression than when he had asked him if he could not sleep. The sailor tried not to breathe too heavily. He could feel on him the cold, slow breathing of the other man.  


His head still tilted towards the pin, Delaney looked at him from under the brim of his hat. It was hard to tell his expression, the upper half of his face shadowed and his mouth hidden by his whiskers. When he spoke, his voice was low and deep, yet Matthew heard perfectly every word of it.  
« Maybe you would sleep better if you were not fighting a whale as soon as you close your eyes. »  


The former whaler opened his mouth to talk, but Delaney continued.  
« I saw it. It's white. »  


Despite his previous resolution, Matthew felt deeply uneasy. Sure, the whale was white, it has participated a lot in the creation of its legend. This, Delaney could have heard in any port, on any dock, the myth of the killer whale. But what did he meant by « I saw it » ?  
« What do you mean ? It's still alive, out there. No one killed it yet. » he said. _Or ever will._This he said not.__  
« Sure it is. And this is the reason why you are not on a whale-boat anymore, and why you walk here with shreds of human flesh between your teeth. »  


Matthew fought the urge to take a step back. Won. Took a deep breath, got closer to Delaney and grabbed the collar of his black coat, the muscles of his jaw twitching and the blue of his eyes gone bone-chilling.  
« Don't you ever, ever mention it again. No one can know that. » It was true in both ways ; should someone learn it, he would lose his job, never to find one again. And no one could possibly know that. Those with whom he had shared, in desperation, the body of their comrade after the shipwreck were all dead, and all had sworn to keep the secret to the grave. Delaney spoke again, slow and deliberate.  
« True. Few of our fellows know the taste of it. »  


Matthew stared at him, his gaze jumping from one of Delaney's eye to the other, noticing now the scar over the left one. He didn't like the darkness he found there and yet it wasn't without reminding him of his own. It was the look of a man who had been in another world, and came back changed, never to fit in the previous one again. Because no one could understand or accept. Because the darkness from which they came back was so absolute, so utterly different from anything their pairs may have ever lived, that there was no hope of feeling at the right place anymore.  


Matthew became acutely aware of their proximity and of the way their breaths were mingling between them. Delaney must have felt it too because he caught in a powerful grip the wrist of the hand that was still holding his coat and gave it a firm squeeze. They were still mere inches from each other, their noses almost touching, faces moving around each other without ever getting in contact. Their breathing was quiet, but Matthew could feel his pulse quickening.  


A part of him was screaming it was wrong, sharing the terrible sin of one of the greatest taboos ever could not be a turn-on nor a valid reason to do whatever they were about to do. He silenced that voice for it was the same which was telling him to stay low, to avoid the gaze of honest people in the streets, to pay for what he had done, to stare at dark, bottomless waters, to sink and remain down there where he belonged. The other part of him was speaking with Delaney's voice as he said :  
« Let's go somewhere else. »  


Matthew nodded in agreement. 

He then found himself pressed up against one of the piles of heavy wooden boxes stocked on the deck, between the main mast and the rear castle, he and James hidden from view by the darkness and the boats on skids.  


He could feel the other man's teeth scraping against his neck, the beard scratching at his skin, and he pushed his hips against James' ones . At the same time the latter bit his ear, hard enough to hurt but without breaking skin and Matthew gasped, his hand grasping James' nape. He felt the ridges of some scar between his shoulderblades and bit at the junction of his neck and shoulder, eliciting a groan from his partner.  


They were both hard in their pants and breathing quickly, and Matthew unfastened his own belt while James took off his gloves. Matthew's hands went up and opened James's shirt, revealing a chest where there was more ink than bare skin, thick black lines in geometrical patterns on which he put his hands before pressing himself against the larger man, moved by a need of contact he hadn't quite realized he had. He could feel James' cheek againts the side of his head, then heard him spit in liberal amounts on a hand Matthew couldn't see, but felt as it slided down between his legs. Apparently his new acquaintance had no doubt about how it was going to happen between them. Matthew was fine with that, even though the environment wasn't exactly the most comfortable nor the most convinient.  


He took a sharp intake of air as the first finger breached his hole, tightening his grip on James' back under his shirt, his nails too short to leave marks. He slided his hands down his back, snaked one between their bodies, wrapping it around James' erection, tugging slightly at his short, irregular hair with the other, the hat long fallen somewhere.  


Matthew could feel the cold tip of the other man's nose against his collarbone and tilted his head to kiss him, without subtlety or finesse. He was in a hurry. Not only was he burning with the urge to quench his lust but despite the relative silence of their intercourse, it was still risky to do that on the deck. As if on another plan of reality, his partner didn't seem to mind, though. One of his hand grasping the side of Matthew's neck, the other busy with his ass, he was kissing him back with tongue and a little bit of teeth. Not quite biting, but not far.  


There was some wildness in the exchange as Matthew was pressed harder against the wood behind him. Another finger went in alongside the first and this time it was uncomfortable, it had been too long, it was going too fast- the sailor didn't care. He moved his hips on the fingers inside him, rubbing his member against James', the latter breathing air into his mouth as they kissed imprecisely and putting one hand on the surface besides Matthew's head for balance. He spread his fingers in his ass, loosening the ring of muscle and Matthew stifled a groan, tightening his grip around James' dick and making him grunt in the back of his throat. They went on like this for a few minutes, pleasuring each other until James pulled out his fingers, judging that Matthew was ready. Anyway, would they have carried on like this, they wouldn't have lasted for very long.  


Hauling himself on the edge of one of the boxes, Matthew watched as James got rid of his long pall, then dragged him towards him by grasping his black waistcoat. He led him between his spread legs, spat in his hand and gave his partner's dick a few strokes before pulling him closer with his calves in James' back. The latter had his hands on the rear of Matthew's thighs, kneading the muscle and sliding up towards his ass.  
James nipped at the underside of his jaw before pulling at his asscheeks and entering him with a muffled noise. Matthew too repressed a moan biting the inside of his lip and held his partner in a tight embrace, enjoying the warmth and the firmness of another body against his. He was finding a weird comfort in the knowledge that the other man was just as wicked as he was, if not more. Right now he didn't have to lie about what he had done. Or about what he wanted.  


He didn't mind the silence, there was no need for them to speak as he followed James' movements with his own hips, meeting his thrusts and feeling their sweats mingle and dampen the front of their open shirts, their skin shining with it in the dim moonlight.  


They were breathing in each other's mouth, holding onto each other like two drowning men, chasing after something, desperate for it, and it was all teeth and nails and bruising grips and hair tugging. Matthew didn't feel his cap falling off. He was too busy holding onto James for dear life, his legs crossed behind his tattooed back, keeping him close, biting his shoulder to stifle his noises, his own moans of pleasure answering his partner's ones.  


He closed his eyes, unable to focus on anything other than the sensation of James' hand holding one of his thighs up, of his beard prickling at his cheek and neck, and the stretch of his own opening around his member. His brow furrowed in pleasure when he felt one of James' hands on his neglected dick and he braced himself more steadily against the boxes. The thrusts of the other man were becoming more and more erratic the closer he was getting of his release, and Matthew thought neither of them would last very longer as he felt the tight grip on his shaft getting slicker with his own precome.  


He was panting heavily, one of his sweaty palms pressed against wood, the other on the shaven back of James' head, when he felt inside him the release of his partner, who went still, his head resting on Matthew's shoulder without pulling back. He kept his hand moving back and forth and when Matthew opened his eyes again, he found the other man staring right at him, dark and unblinking. They locked eyes while James finished him, linked by their gazes and the lower half of their bodies as one ancient, two-faced entity, their tangled limbs shaping a monstrous figure in the dim light.  


When Matthew came he felt a hand around his neck, the thumb resting over his windpipe without applying any pressure, and he couldn't tell if it was his own or James', for he closed his eyes briefly, breaking the spell. He felt James' member slipping out of him, heard him picking back his coat while he was too busy catching his breath. Then he threw a glance at the passenger, who was handing him his cap, his hat already back in place as if nothing had happened. Matthew took it with a thankful nod, wishing to remain silent after what they had shared.  


He was feeling as if he had taken a few steps under pitch-black waters, and hadn't even been scared of drowning. It was odd. It was enticing. And James was still watching him, the look in his eyes just on the wrong side of the disturbing line. The sailor didn't say anything as he cleaned himself the best he could, trying to conceal any evidence of what had just happened. He didn't need people to get suspicious and couldn't remember if shagging passengers was allowed in his contract. Not that he would have cared. The whole encounter had felt too out of the ordinary for him to regret anything. He straightened his clothes and put his cap back on his head, looking at his one-night stand. Maybe he was not. After all, the journey to New York was quite long.  


For now though he wasn't sure about what to do. He wanted to remain longer within these troubled waters of a different sort he had discovered, where the darkness was absolute ; not once the white whale had lurked in his mind during their intercourse. It was as if it was kept at a certain distance by the blackness, hidden by it. On the other side, Matthew was feeling that the night was over. Staying might be displaced. He decided to take his leave , but James had already finished to put back his gloves and seemed about to do the same thing.  
« See you » said Matthew, without offering his hand. It would have been odd.  


James looked at him then nodded.  
« Good day » he answered, then turned away. He disappeared quickly in the dark, his ever-billowing coat swelling behind him.  


Only then Matthew noticed there was hardly any wind that night.

The next morning, as he woke up, he wondered if he would see James again. Among the passengers, maybe. Or on the deck. Or lurking in unexpected places. He looked like the type of man to do it. Matthew wanted to see him again, to find once more time this feeling he had had the previous night. His sleep had been rather peaceful, only troubled by some confusing dreams, full of distorted silhouettes and reflections on quiet, misty waters. He wasn't feeling as sore as he had expected on his way back to the crew quarters last night. Save from that, everything was as usual.  
He did his part of the work, only glancing quickly at the long coat-wearing passengers, trying to spot James amongst them. Matthew wanted to find him again. To find him again and go back to those still, dark waters with him, to follow him underneath. He felt as if he had escaped the darkness during the shipwreck and what had followed just to better return to it now. He wasn't easily afraid ; though even he found himself a little bit bewildered in front of the clear evidence of his own desire. Maybe he was going mad. Maybe he was not.  


Matthew did not see any sign of James that day. Nor that night. He went back on the deck, late in the night, searched for someone all over the place in the penumbra. He was alone. The explanations his brain provided did not satisfy him. He knew something was wrong. Something had been wrong long before he had seen the stranger in the black coat that one night.  


He ended up asking around for indications, seeking to know if anyone had seen a man in black with tattoos and a scar on his left brow. He only got negative answers and weird looks and soon stopped to ask, for apparently, nobody had seen Delaney.  


He decided to sort it all out ; he was growing restless of not knowing. One night he sneaked in the captain's quarters with a mendacious pretext in case he got caught. That wasn't like him at all. He didn't like to lie but the urge to know was stronger. He looked for the logbook, struggled with the handwriting, deciphered all the pages one after an other, just in case.  
He did not know what was more chilling : the cold realization that there was no man of the name of James Delaney on board, or the fact that, deep down his bones, he already knew that. Maybe he had imagined the whole encounter. Maybe he had not.  


Both were equally terrifying.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about my english for it is not my native language. (honhon croissants)  
Please let me know if there are any mistakes, and if you enjoyed it or not. This is the first fic I write, all criticism is welcome.


End file.
